Chapter 23
‘…Whew, I’m exhausted.’
I didn’t even do that much.
The mental fatigue was considerable.
Well, until just a few days ago, I’d been an ordinary citizen and job seeker, and suddenly I’d found myself having to play the role of a ‘relaxed person’ among (scary) gang members.
Of course I was bound to be tired.
‘…Still, I’m glad things worked out.’
I recalled the face of the mafia boss.
Along with the voice that had been curious about my identity.
And even the inexplicable goodwill she had shown me.
‘…This is giving me a headache.’
Things had gone too smoothly, which was troublesome.
Explosion is art.
Honestly, it was practically a meme.
Unfortunately, this world had no stories about ninjas whose goal was to become Hokage.
‘I really did love it.’
I had seen flames rippling with joy.
The less understandable a person’s tastes are to others, the greater the joy of sharing them.
Humans are social animals.
Whether they realize it or not, everyone wants their story to be understood by others.
‘Still, I didn’t expect it to be this much.’
I scratched my head and checked my terminal.
Actually, the only number saved on my terminal until now had been [Christine], but a new number had just been added.
───────────────
Title : [No Title]
(20 photos of a burning factory)
^-^
───────────────
You’re asking what this mysterious message is?
What else could it be?
Obviously, it was a message from some mafia boss.
‘Luciana.’
That name felt incredibly heavy.
Even receiving the private number of a military division commander probably wouldn’t feel this burdensome.
Anyway.
After spending about thirty seconds thinking about how to reply, I realized that we had somehow already walked outside the mansion.
Whatever. Screw it.
I sent back the same ‘^-^’ and put my terminal in my pocket.
I filled my lungs with Risk City’s cold air and looked around.
The other organization members were disappearing in the vehicles they had arrived in.
Us?
Of course we had to walk.
Apparently, the bottommost districts, where neither laws nor police existed, had no public transportation, either.
There was supposedly something similar on the streets of the new city, but unfortunately, the area where we lived was the old city streets—the bottom of the bottom.
This was why people should live near the capital region, where transportation was convenient.
What could we do?
If there was no Bus or Metro, we had to Walk.
“…When are we supposed to walk all the way back?”
I sighed and muttered to myself.
I had also said it partly to break the ice.
It was directed at the two people who had kept their mouths shut ever since we left the mansion.
Hearing me, Michael lowered his head apologetically.
Michael usually smiled or maintained a poker face, but the expression he wore now was gloomy beyond words.
He looked a little like a squashed frog.
“…Aren’t you going to ask anything else?”
“Ask what?”
“Didn’t you hear about me?”
My brow furrowed slightly, then relaxed.
He was probably referring to the information the mafia boss—Luciana—had told us.
Considering that the Bogus gang’s hideout had exploded only a few days ago—no, it had happened just yesterday—the Sparo Rapido Family’s intelligence-gathering abilities were truly impressive.
What had she said again?
“Michael Dillon?”
“…Yes.”
Maybe he felt guilty about hiding his identity.
Though he hadn’t seemed to have any intention of hiding it from the beginning.
The way he was so knowledgeable and capable, even inciting the homeless…
He really was practically a cult leader.
I lightly kicked an innocent pebble rolling along the ground.
The state of District 49’s old city streets wasn’t good, even by the most generous assessment.
Most of the ground was cracked like this.
And the buildings had been expanded in shapes resembling anthills.
But that wasn’t all.
Between the winding buildings that rose and fell, I could see a cyberpunk landscape.
The sight of glittering neon signs illuminating the city in place of the moon looked like a scene from a dream.
I still hadn’t gotten used to the clouds made sticky by smog, though.
As I answered, I idly wondered whether I should sacrifice myself to sell paper straws instead in order to prevent environmental pollution.
“What is there to ask?”
The fact that he was a lost homeless man hadn’t changed, after all.
Michael was Michael.
And.
“Who in this world has nothing they want to hide from others?”
Unless they were a transcendent being like Jesus or Buddha.
It was that impossible.
“Me, you, and our little one, too.”
There was no need to distinguish between the cyberpunk world and the present in this regard.
I was hiding the secret that I had fallen into a game, and everyone else probably had at least one secret they couldn’t tell anyone, either.
When I brought up the little one, Rivera’s shoulders jerked violently.
Her large mask made her expression difficult to read, but no one would be stupid enough to see that reaction and think there was nothing going on.
‘Maybe even her age is a lie….’
Well, I was just saying that it could be something like that.
“There’s nothing to ask or tell.”
We were an organization that was barely an organization, cobbled together from discarded goods from a grocery store.
We were practically connected by a thread-thin bond.
Of course, the same went for the other homeless people.
If I announced that I wouldn’t distribute food starting tomorrow, wouldn’t they immediately revert to the average Cyberpunk level of decency and try to change classes into robbers or thieves?
Ah.
“…If that was a question implying you were hurt that I hadn’t asked, I might get a little creeped out.”
There was no such thing as a rainbow inside me.
Could this crazy Michael bastard be trying to kill all the Antarctic penguins instead of polar bears─.
“…No, I’d find that misunderstanding a little uncomfortable, too.”
“Right?”
“Yes, very uncomfortable….”
I almost hit him for real.
Anyway.
“If you want to tell me about yourself, I won’t stop you, but I won’t be uncomfortable just because you don’t.”
“Even though I deceived Hotdog Man?”
“What are you talking about?”
I thought of a faint possibility and asked,
“…Did you steal something from a logistics warehouse? Dodging the turrets’ eyes? Wow, impressive.”
“No, it wasn’t that.”
I almost jumped.
“Then you didn’t really deceive me about anything.”
“The fact that I used to belong to a corporation….”
“You told me that last time.”
What had he said again?
When we first met, after he had gathered a large number of homeless people.
“If there are a hundred people, there are bound to be a hundred lives. I heard the stories more or less, and there wasn’t a single homeless person there who didn’t have a genuinely unfair circumstance.”
Some had been betrayed while running restaurants, while others had quit after working as mercenaries.
So there could certainly be someone who had fled after working for a corporation.
“So don’t say weird things. Let’s get ready to walk. Everyone else left in their cars ages ago.”
It was true.
They had disappeared one after another during our short conversation.
I trudged off a step ahead of them.
As I began walking silently, I heard the footsteps of the two people following behind me.
“…Thank you.”
I heard the girl’s thanks carried on the cold wind, but deliberately pretended not to hear it.
Greetings were supposed to be made face-to-face, after all.
A natural smile formed at the corners of my mouth.
* * *
“Ah.”
That’s right.
I’d forgotten for a moment.
The grocery store.
It was still wrecked.
They say that a person’s face reflects their life.
In other words, a grocery store with a destroyed entrance was no different from one that had been destroyed entirely.
My slightly improved mood turned gloomy again.
Christine had definitely said she would fix it….
There was still no word from her.
Of course, I had contacted Christine only two days ago at most, but with Cyberpunk’s technology, she should have fixed it in a few hours.
I really feel like having a little boo-hoo-hoo….
I strode into the grocery store, which had been redesigned in an open-terrace style.
Michael and Rivera had just gone their separate ways.
Whiiir.
Along with a familiar sound.
A turret swooshed down from the intact ceiling.
[Dyu.]
“Yeah, good morning.”
[…??]
For reference, it was currently the predawn hours.
In fact, it was a time much closer to midnight than noon.
Ignoring Nova’s bewildered reaction, I lay back in the chair behind the counter.
I yawned and sprawled out like a limp octopus.
“I’m not sleepy, but I’m sleepy….”
That was exactly how it felt.
Apparently, being in better shape wasn’t entirely an advantage.
Still, as I sat there without thinking about anything, I felt my eyelids gradually growing heavier.
One inhale, one exhale.
Focusing on my calm breathing, my consciousness slowly drifted toward the dream world….
[…Dyu!]
Right before I entered it.
The turret extended its body downward and gave the chair a tap.
It was only my way of describing it as a ‘tap’; considering the turret’s size, the sound was closer to a ‘slam.’
I nearly toppled forward.
Dad’s not asleep yet….
“Why?”
[Dyu, dyu-dyu.]
The turret’s muzzle rotated smoothly.
It was pointing toward the inside of the grocery store, at the sink.
“You’re saying I should wash up before bed?”
[Dyu.]
“But I’m tired….”
The moment I said that, the turret’s lens lit up red.
Sorry. Please spare my life.
I quickly got up from the chair.
Well, I had been out, too.
If I went to sleep without changing my clothes or washing up, tomorrow’s discomfort would be no joke.
I moved toward the logistics warehouse and threw off my clothes, at which point the turret, having changed positions, stared at me.
[…….]
That was a little intimidating.
Come to think of it, I hadn’t paid much attention to the grocery store’s pet turret—Nova—over the past few days.
Was this how Chuck Noland had felt when he sent Wilson off into the sea?
But this wasn’t a deserted island, nor was it in the middle of a typhoon.
I walked toward the turret.
“Nova.”
[……Dyu?]
Its exact name was Novarek-A41.
It was difficult to pronounce, so I had named it Nova.
Although it was a military turret, its movements weren’t completely rigid.
Hadn’t it just (forcibly) woken me up when I tried to go to sleep without washing up?
In other words, this turret possessed a consciousness and judgment close to those of a human.
I didn’t know exactly how advanced the ‘AI with decent performance’ Christine had mentioned was supposed to be….
‘…No, no.’
Come to think of it, there had been a technician capable of making even an ordinary robotic dog speak human language.
That person’s name was probably….
* * *
“…Say that one more time. What did you say?”
“Why don’t you come do a house call at my place sometime?”
Walter, the owner of Walter’s Recycling Shop, marveled at his own patience for not splitting open the visiting customer’s head.